


Out of the Blue

by 50ShadesofCray



Category: actresses
Genre: Amanda Tapping - Freeform, Based on a Tumblr Post, F/F, Female Slash, I Blame Tumblr, Inspired By Tumblr, Mary McDonnell - Freeform, Slash, What-If, f/f - Freeform, fanfic about a show that doesn't exist, miscellaneous, what if, what if mary mcdonnell and amanda tapping starred in a television show together
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-18
Updated: 2014-02-18
Packaged: 2018-01-12 22:37:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1203100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/50ShadesofCray/pseuds/50ShadesofCray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>High-powered attorney Margaret Stafford has lived a practical existence.  She's married, moves in social circles comprised of Seattle's more elite citizens, and has built a successful career as one of the city's best attorneys.  She thinks it's enough until one night she crosses paths with a willful, playful cop who mixes leather with diamonds.  Intrigued, she goes beyond her comfort zone to find out if there's more to life than what she's known all these years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of the Blue

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by a discussion between myself and some Tumblr sweethearts concerning the question, "What if Mary McDonnell and Amanda Tapping starred together in a television show?" We unanimously thought that was the most awesome idea ever because they are both BAMFs. Of course, then the discussion turned shippy.
> 
> And there was no going back.
> 
> This fic was borne of that discussion. This fic, however, is a little unusual. So, let me explain. This is a fic of a show that doesn't exist. Make sense? No? Well, to be quite honest, it doesn't make a lot of sense to me, either. Maybe it's just a story. I'm not sure.
> 
> Let me give you some context so that if you choose to read this ficstory, you won't get lost. Mary McDonnell's character is Margaret Stafford, a 42-year old power attorney in Seattle, Washington. Amanda Tapping's character is 28-year old Christine Pender, a cop with the Seattle Police Department.
> 
> Hopefully, that's all you need in order not to get lost. This is the first time I've ever written anything like that, but I hope you find something enjoyable about it, even if it only serves to inspire you to look up pics of Mary and Amanda. :)
> 
> **Chapter title comes from the Joan Armatrading song _The Weakness in Me_.**

 

She still remembers the first time she met Chris. It was an ordinary evening that had followed a rather uneventful day in her mostly mundane life. Sometimes she was asked to recall the particular moment she met Chris (by friends who somehow found her recollections adorable and hilarious), and she would do so fondly over a glass of white wine. It was her favorite and there was always at least one bottle of it in her house. She made her living as an attorney, and was a partner in a law firm in downtown Seattle that specialized in family law. Adoption, divorce, child custody and visitation, surrogacy matters, child abuse, child abduction--she had worked a variety of cases and had become rather well-known around the city as the lawyer who embodied an unusual combination of compassion and decency, but most importantly, possessed the enviable ability to win most of her cases. Her job was far from easy, though. The older she'd gotten and the more cases she won, the easier the high-profile cases seemed to find their way to her. And the more high-profile a case was, the more headaches she got. It wasn't unusual to find Maggie with her glasses sitting on her desk, rubbing her temples in little circular motions. Chris always joked that being a lawyer, she more than earned her daily glass of wine and often wondered aloud why she didn't drink more. It never failed to elicit a smile from Maggie.

 

 

 

The beginning of her tale always started out the same way, with Maggie describing the chilly, rainy night on which she and Chris met. The date was seared in her memory: January 14, 1994.

 

 

 

At this point, Maggie would take a sip of her wine and savor the taste, gathering her thoughts to her even though she'd told this story dozens of times. She might even look over at Chris tenderly, attempting to suppress a shyness that wasn't generally a part of her _modus operandi_. Her peers would say that Maggie was anything but shy. However regarding her personal life, of which she was fiercely protective, she was reluctant to reveal intimate details to the public. Her family was her own, and around close friends she may open up, but professionally, they were off limits.

 

 

 

On this particular January night, Maggie had driven all around the seedier areas of Seattle looking in bars for a client known to have issues with alcohol. She heard that he'd fallen off the wagon and since they were due in court in two days for a hearing, she needed to make sure he stayed both sober and lucid. It was a child custody case; the mother had left her husband and taken their son with her, refusing to let the husband see him. It had driven the husband to despair which, in turn, led him to the nearest bar where he proceeded to drown his sorrows in a bottle of Jack Daniel's. It was something which had turned into a regular habit. He was at heart a decent man, but had a pattern of relapsing when life threw him lemons. If he couldn't pull it together, Maggie warned him that the judge would be legally obligated to suspend visitation until he completed a rehab program and could prove his sobriety.

 

 

 

Which sent the husband even further on his downward spiral.

 

 

 

Presently, the attorney was having serious doubts about the hearing and thought about trying to talk her client into canceling it and seeking treatment for his alcoholism instead. She worried about him and his son, until her heart ached and she left her office to find him.

 

 

 

Maggie had called several of his friends trying to get information on his usual hangouts. They'd provided her with a few places to check, places he was known to frequent, and so she'd spent nearly three hours driving around looking for any sign of his car. She even entered a few bars, and asked the patrons if they'd seen him. As she approached the last bar on the street, a rundown hole-in-the-wall place with a bright green neon sign that flashed "Molly Malone's" in the window, she thought she saw her client's car parked in the small lot beside the building. Pulling up beside a row of motorcycles, she got out of her own vehicle and looked through the window of the other car to see if there was anything that would imply that her client was its owner. That is, until a couple of guys in leather asked her what she was doing. Leather pants, leather vests, leather boots...

 

 

 

"I'm looking for a client," she responded, pulling her prim red cardigan more tightly around her, trying to keep the January chill from reaching her bones. She adjusted her glasses and held up a photograph of her client. "His name is Andrew Meyer. Do you know him?"

 

 

 

"What do you mean _client_?" a burly man asked, stepping closer to her. His voice was deep and gravelly, booming quietly against the muffled noises coming from inside of the bar. When he got close enough, he snatched the photograph from her hand and studied it closely. She was slightly uncomfortable, and kept her keys surreptitiously in her hand in case she had to use them as a weapon. She drew up to her full height and lifted her chin, appearing haughty and confident, which was only a half-lie. But they needn't know that. She just needed them to know that she meant business, and she wouldn't be pushed around by the likes of them.

 

 

 

"I'm his lawyer. We have a hearing in court in two days and I need to go over some things with him. I tried to reach him at home and at his office, with no success. I was told that he might be here."

 

 

 

The other man, also burly and wearing just as much leather, but bald, spoke up, "A lawyer? He kill someone or something?"

 

 

 

"No, no, it's just a little matter. I'm sorry, I can't discuss it with you, but it is imperative that I find him," she explained evenly in a firm voice.

 

 

 

The first man handed the photo back to her. "I've seen him here before, but I haven't seen him tonight. Of course, it's busy; I don't know who all is in there. Your best bet is to go inside and look for yourself." He surveyed her in her black skirt, white blouse, and cardigan and didn't bother to disguise the snicker that escaped his mouth.

 

 

 

She knew he was laughing at her clothes, but she hadn't the time nor the desire to dress in clothes one might find appropriate "bar attire." Besides, she wasn't expecting to be in a bar long enough for patrons to notice what she was wearing. Raising one thin eyebrow into an arch, she offered a crisp "thank you" and a small, tight smile, and walked up the stairs into the ramshackle building. Immediately upon entering the establishment, all the smoke that was swirling and wafting about went straight to her throat, choking her. Glancing around, it was hard to see anything due to the combination of dim lights and the thick haze of smoke that had settled in the air. A song she couldn't identify blared from one side of the building, and the sounds of people playing pool came from the other.

 

 

 

The sharp, loud sound of her heels punctuating the wooden floor could be heard over the music, and the eyes of the men in the room followed her as she slipped through the maze of haphazardly placed tables and chairs. She was aware they were ogling her as she walked by; it gave her a small thrill to know she could still turn heads at her age. All those yoga and zumba classes were paying off!

 

 

 

Of course, the thought also crossed her mind that they may simply be watching her because she was the only person in the place dressed like a Macy's ad.

 

 

 

Despite momentarily reeling from having made such an impact on the libido of the present male population, she didn't waste any time asking people if they'd seen Andrew, handing his picture around. Someone said to check the pool tables, he'd been there earlier in the evening.

 

 

 

Hastily and a little anxiously, Maggie approached the pool room, hoping her client was the first thing she laid eyes on and that she could quickly persuade him to leave with her. She also prayed that she wouldn't have to carry him out. One of the guys at a pool table nearest the door glanced up from his game when she entered his line of vision, which caused his opponent to notice and tear her eyes away to lay them on the impeccably-dressed attorney.

 

 

 

And that was the first time she'd seen Chris, who wasn't shy about the fact that she was staring at the impeccably-dressed attorney's legs.

 

 

 

How insignificant that moment seemed at that time. It was only years later that she'd discreetly recognized it as being one of the most defining moments of her life, a moment she would mull over, that would produce warm feelings that she gladly let engulf her. While it couldn't be said that Maggie was an outwardly emotional person in general, those who were closest knew that she wore her heart silently on her sleeve, whose little sighs and secretive smiles were reserved for the memories of moments that touched her most. Those dearest to her were spared no love or affection.

 

 

 

One look at Chris and Maggie decided she didn't look like a person that would've been invited to the cocktail parties thrown by her and her husband. In fact, Maggie indulged herself in a second look. She spent her days in suits and heels and worked with people who also wore suits and socialized with people who wore suits, too. This was quite the departure. This girl (and Maggie had a habit of referring to anyone visibly younger than her as a girl) was tall with long, wavy brown hair, bangs swept to the side in a casual act perhaps precipitated by an intense game of pool. She wore a short black leather jacket over a t-shirt with the Rolling Stones on it. And the only way she knew they were the Rolling Stones was because the band's name was written in big letters at the top of her shirt over their pictures. Her black jeans were so tight they left no room for the imagination and Maggie thought it would be more appropriate to look away, except she couldn't. There was something about her eyes, her large blue eyes that she could see from where she stood. The girl took a sip of beer from her bottle, appearing quite amused.

 

 

 

"Hey, I didn't know they let cardigans in this kind of place." She was almost yelling to be heard over the noise of the bar.

 

 

 

Maggie pursed her lips and tilted her head, regarding the younger woman for the briefest second. Peering over her glasses, she asked dryly, "Why? Does it offend you?"

 

 

 

"No, it's about time we got some class in here," she grinned. "My apartment needs some class, too. Wanna come home with me?"

 

 

 

Maggie couldn't help it; she burst out laughing. The woman put down her pool stick and approached her. She stuck out her hand, which Maggie hesitated before taking, but the handshake was warm and friendly. Even though she didn't know the girl, she thought she might like her, after all.

 

 

 

"The name's Christine Pender, but call me Chris."

 

 

 

Maggie nodded, shaking her hand. "Margaret Stafford."

 

 

 

Chris's lips flirted with a smile. "Do you go by a nickname...Meg, Peggy, Margie...anything?"

 

 

 

"No, just Margaret."

 

 

 

"We'll see about that," she grinned again, which sent Maggie's eyebrows to her hairline. "Not to be rude, but we don't get a lot of people like you in here."

 

 

 

"What do you mean _like me_? Am I being profiled?" she teased, a smile ghosting on her lips.

 

 

 

"Yes, yes, you are. What I mean is, we don't get a lot of people in here wearing clothing that wasn't mooing in a pasture somewhere in a previous life."

 

 

 

"There does seem to be a significant amount of leather in here," replied Maggie looking around at the patrons, who all seemed identical to the burly, rough men whom she'd met outside.

 

 

 

"They're all teddy bears, really. So, what are you doing here? Looking for a wayward spouse?" She took another drink of her beer.

 

 

 

"Actually, I'm looking for a client of mine." Maggie held up Andrew's photo, which Chris took and studied closely. "I'm his attorney and I need to speak with him. It's very important."

 

 

 

"He comes in here quite a bit. Orders a drink. Sometimes he drinks it; sometimes he just stares at it. If I didn't know any better, I'd say he was an alcoholic."

 

 

 

Maggie was impressed with Chris's perceptiveness, but kept her face impassive so as not to give anything about her client away. She didn't want to expose his secrets and habits. She did like him and only wanted him safe. "Have you seen him tonight?"

 

 

 

"Yeah. Yeah, he sat at the bar. He had a drink and a couple of more lined up. I don't know what happened to him, though. I came back here to play pool. Is he in some kind of trouble?"

 

 

 

"No," Maggie sighed. "It's a private matter. I need to find him and quickly. I thought I saw his car in the parking lot, but I'm not totally sure it's his."

 

 

 

"Get me the license plate number. I'll see what I can do."

 

 

 

"What do you mean _what you can do_?"

 

 

 

"I'm a cop, honey. With the Seattle P. D." Chris pulled back the left side of her jacket, and clipped to the top of her jeans was her badge. Maggie looked at it surprised. She hadn't expected that. She wondered just how many more surprises this night held for her, as it was the most unusual night she'd had in a long time. "I'll run the plates and see if the car you think is your client's is, indeed, your client's."

 

 

 

"Oh! Then, I should probably go get that number for you. I'll be right back." Maggie rushed outside to the vehicle she thought belonged to Andrew Meyer and copied the license plate number onto a piece of used stationery she retrieved from her purse. She was excited at the prospect of maybe getting to her client before he drank himself into a jail cell...or worse.

 

 

 

Hurriedly, she ran back inside and handed Chris the piece of paper. The girl looked at the number and grinned. "Want to take any bets on whether this car is your client's or not?"

 

 

 

Staring at her dumbfounded, she responded, "Well, I don't really bet. I'm not good at it."

 

 

 

There was a twinkle in Chris's eyes. She rubbed her pink lipstick-covered lips together thoughtfully. "How about if the car belongs to your client, we go find him and after, we hang out? If the car isn't his, we go find him, and after, we hang out?"

 

 

 

Once again, Maggie looked at the girl over her glasses and responded in a low, amused tone, "I am old enough to be your mother."

 

 

 

"I've always liked older women. Besides, you can't be that much older," scoffed Chris.

 

 

 

"Try almost 42."

 

 

 

"Well, I'm almost 28 and a half. Come on, It'll be fun," Chris pleaded as they walked over to the bar.

 

 

 

"I don't know. Let's just find Mr. Meyer first. It's really very important," said Maggie, reminding her why she was there.

 

 

 

"Hey, Frank!" Chris shouted for the bartender. "I need to use the phone!"

 

 

 

Frank, a tall, gruff-looking gentleman that had to be in his 70s or 80s came rushing out. "You're always asking to use the damn phone! We're a bar, not a phone service. I should start charging you and the whole Seattle Police Department!" He picked up the phone from beneath the bar and slammed it on the counter in front of her.

 

 

 

"I'll give you an extra big tip," she smiled and started dialing a number. She waited a moment, then began talking to someone named Kevin, asking him to run the plate number Maggie had given her.

 

 

 

Out of habit, Maggie pulled her cardigan tighter around her, crossing her arms. While waiting for Chris to get the information she needed, she scanned the room around her, looking anywhere but at the younger woman. However, apparently there was a wait and the Chris was put on hold. The hold music, something upbeat, could be vaguely heard from where Maggie stood and she noticed Chris tapping her foot to the faint beat. The wait was growing awkward by the second. There was something about Chris that made her feel vulnerable, but excited. She wanted to peek at her, but she felt that she would only meet Chris's eyes if she did, and she didn't know how she was supposed to react if she saw Chris staring at her. She imagined that she might be embarrassed, maybe even blush, and she didn't want the cop to think there was anything wrong, especially when Maggie was so appreciative of her willingness to help.

 

 

 

After what seemed like an eternity, Kevin came back on the line and confirmed that the vehicle belonged to one Andrew Meyer. Relieved, Maggie wondered aloud at where he could possibly be, asking Chris about other places within a five-mile radius where he could've possibly ended up. He wasn't in his car, so perhaps he'd walked somewhere close by. When Chris offered to help her search, and she immediately took her up on the offer. She just hoped that Andrew hadn't gotten himself in any trouble. The two women searched the bar thoroughly. Though Chris was off-duty, she easily slipped back into her cop role and questioned several people about Andrew, showing them the picture Maggie had brought with her. A few had seen him and gave Chris a description of him and his obviously distressed emotional state. Everyone was consistent in that he appeared down and out and was holding a shot glass full of what looked like whiskey. Unfortunately, the last time anyone had seen him had been over an hour ago. Maggie silently cursed.

 

 

 

"Mr. Meyer can't be far," Chris offered in confident reassurance. "I don't have anything else going on tonight. Let me help you find him."

 

 

 

"No, you've gone to so much trouble already," insisted Maggie. "I appreciate all you've done, but I can't ask you to give up your evening to look for my client. As you said, he can't be far."

 

 

 

"You ever ride a motorcycle?"

 

 

 

She stuttered being completely caught off-guard by the sudden change of subject. "What? Well, no. I've never ridden one before."

 

 

 

"Come on, we'll make this fun. We'll go for a ride and look for your client at the same time." Chris started walking. "You have a coat?"

 

 

 

"Yes, in my car."

 

 

 

"Good. 'Cause you're going to need it."

 

 

 

"Look, I--I don't ride motorcycles! I just need to find Mr. Meyer, and then I need to get home. You've been very helpful, but--"

 

 

 

"You're 42 years old--"

 

 

 

"A _lmost_ 42," corrected Maggie emphatically.

 

 

 

"All right, _almost_ 42, and you've never ridden a motorcycle. I consider that an emergency situation. I have an extra helmet." Chris continued walking outside, leaving Maggie to run along behind her, feeling helpless!

 

 

 

Maggie didn't know why she was retrieving her coat. She didn't even know if she was actually going to go for a ride on this motorcycle with this person she'd just met. It wasn't like her to be in bars and go on motorcycle rides, and to be so easily talked into things that didn't fall in line with her usual activities. She was Margaret Stafford, aggressive and stubborn and willful. What in the hell was she doing with this stranger? But she put on her coat, as well as the helmet. Chris gave her a brief overview of how to sit, which presented a new set of problems since Maggie was wearing a skirt.

 

 

 

Chris smiled reassuringly, "No one will see between your legs. Now, hold on tightly to me." She put her own helmet on and hopped onto her bike, starting it up. It was loud, causing Maggie to flinch. She was nervous; she could always turn back and refuse the ride. But deep down she didn't want to. Deep down, she wanted to see how it would feel to do something dangerous. Not too dangerous, because there were people who depended on her, but more dangerous than Toyotas and grapefruit breakfasts.

 

 

 

Taking a deep breath, despite her misgivings, she tried to straddle the motorcycle seat in the most modest way possible. The hardest part, though, was trying to find a way to hold onto Chris without actually touching her. She hadn't touched anyone in a long time, excluding handshakes and polite hugs. Holding on to someone's waist was, well, intimate, even if not done in an intimate context. And just to reiterate, she didn't know this girl...young woman...or whatever she was! Smirking, Chris grabbed Maggie's hands and placed them just above her hips and then they took off. The older woman had no choice but to tighten them lest she wanted to fly off the back and end up face-to-face with the pavement. The lurching motion of the bike gave her a thrill that she felt in the pit of her stomach. It was such a strange sensation.

 

 

 

Chris rode the entire five-mile radius around the bar. They went down every street, checked all alley ways, and a couple of times, she stopped to ask people if they'd seen Meyer. She had a friendly face and a tough presence. People seemed so willing to talk to her and give her information. There was something so trusting and casual about her. When she laughed, Maggie listened attentively. It was silly, but her laugh was the most pleasant thing she'd ever heard, like a breeze moving leisurely through wind chimes. It was mellifluous combined with cacophony. Chris's smile somehow made Maggie smile without realizing it until she felt the corners of her mouth tighten. It felt like things would be all right when Chris smiled, even though she thought it was ridiculous to even think that. It wasn't logical, but it made her felt better which quelled the uneasy feelings stirring inside her due to her client's disappearance which may have been fueled by an alcoholic binge.

 

 

 

What seemed like pure dumb luck, or perhaps guidance from some heavenly being, the two women happened to ride by a park and saw Andrew Meyer laying on a bench, passed out. This wasn't good, and Maggie instantly knew it. He was breaking the law. Loitering, being in a park after closing time, public intoxication... And she led a cop right to him. If he had charges brought against him, he would definitely not get his kid back. And Maggie would be partially to blame. Her stomach began churning with the guilt that was washing over her; she felt awful.

 

 

 

Chris parked her bike and placed her helmet on the seat. She walked over to Mr. Meyer, her dark hair blowing to the side, the light from the street lamp causing the earring in the exposed ear to twinkle. Diamonds and leather, what a combination of beautiful and tough, Maggie thought as she dreaded what course of action Chris would have to take as a police officer.

 

 

 

Leaning over him, Chris shook him gently, "Andrew Meyer?" When he didn't respond, she shook him a little harder and almost shouted, "Andrew Meyer?"

 

 

 

He opened his eyes, squinting them at Chris. He brought his hand up to shield his eyes from the glare of the street lamp. Maggie appeared at the cop's side.

 

 

 

"Mr. Meyer, you can't be sleeping on a park bench. For starters, it's only 40 degrees outside."

 

 

 

"You a cop?" he asked weakly, almost slurring his words. Maggie could smell the alcohol on him. She sighed.

 

 

 

"Yeah, my name is Officer Pender," Chris responded.

 

 

 

"You gonna arrest me? 'Cause if you do, I probably deserve it." He struggled to sit up and Chris helped him. Surprisingly, she sat down next to him.

 

 

 

"No. You look like you've had a bad enough day already. I don't think I need to add to it."

 

 

 

"Bad day. Bad week. Bad month."

 

 

 

"Yeah? Is that why you're sleeping on this park bench smelling like alcohol?"

 

 

 

"The alcohol dulls the pain, ya know? I lost my job and my wife left me. She took my son with her and won't let me see him."

 

 

 

"Ouch. That's gotta be hard. You love your son a lot?" her voice was caring, compassionate. She leaned forward and looked into his eyes earnestly.

 

 

 

Andrew nodded, "You bet I do. So damn much. I just couldn't handle it. Everything happened at the same time. You can't blame me for taking a drink."

 

 

 

"Let me guess...it calmed your nerves, so you kept doing it?"

 

 

 

"Yeah. And I messed up. I really messed up." He looked up at Maggie standing in front of him. His head swayed and she guessed that the alcohol was having a dizzying effect on him. His eyes were bloodshot and his skin sallow. It was painfully apparent he wasn't taking care of himself. "I'm sorry, Margaret. For everything. There's no way I'm going to win my son back."

 

 

 

"Well, you see, Maggie here believes in you. And I believe in you," Chris said. Maggie caught the nickname even if it casually rolled off Chris's tongue. No one called her nick names or pet names. She was Margaret to everyone, always had been. Though she wasn't sure she disliked Maggie, truthfully.

 

 

 

"Why? I'm just an alcoholic. I can't stop. Not even for my son. My wife hates me." He buried his face in his hands.

 

 

 

"Your son loves you, you can be sure. And people make mistakes, Andrew. Sometimes we keep making the same mistakes until we learn how not to make them anymore. And sometimes we need a little help learning how to not make the same mistakes over and over. You follow me?"

 

 

 

"Why don't you just arrest me and get it over with? I'm never going to learn. Every day, I get up and I promise myself I won't take a drink, and every day, I end up at a bar with a glass of whiskey in my hands. I can't stop. I can't stop!" he sobbed miserably, his shoulders shaking violently.

 

 

 

Chris put an arm around his shoulder. "Andrew, tonight it's going to stop. Because even though you feel powerless to do anything about it, I know some people who can help. Just because you're having some trouble doesn't mean you're not a good person. You deserve to be helped the same as anyone else. You deserve another chance. Hell, you deserve another ten chances, if that's what it takes."

 

 

 

"I don't know... I don't have a job. I don't have insurance. I have a hearing Monday morning."

 

 

 

"You're in no condition right now to have your son, even if the judge granted you visitation." At this, he released another painful sob. Chris patted his back. "You know it's true. Something else would come up and drive you right back to the bottle. Take this opportunity, Andrew. Let me help you so that you can get your life back, so you can get your son back. If you enter a program and prove to me that you can quit drinking and stay sober, when you finally do go to court, I'll accompany you and be a character witness for you. Would that be ok, Maggie?" Chris's sincere blue eyes looked up at the older woman.

 

 

 

Maggie had been standing by, listening to the exchange between the cop and her client. This merciful, kind stranger who she'd known for less than two hours was already promising to be this man's character witness and to get him help for his addiction. She choked up at the empathy Chris was showing him. Law and law enforcement were oftentimes cut-throat occupations, demanding its employees to separate themselves from the people they were supposed to serve in order to carry out their duties. Maggie performed her job with her whole heart, despite the warnings from college professors and employers. She thought it unthinkable that she could work in family law and not exhibit any humanity towards all involved. Her clients had feelings and stories, each one unique, each one requiring understanding and deserving of kindness.

 

 

 

There were good cops. Then, there were great cops. Chris was a great cop, and Maggie's heart swelled at what she was offering her client. Trying not to show her eyes, which were particularly shiny and glassy at that moment, Maggie cleared her throat and nodded, "I think that Officer Pender is...is right. I think if you can prove your sobriety, and with her testimony, there should be no reason why a judge would deny you visitation of your son. Right now, you need to think about yourself--getting yourself to a good place both mentally and physically so that you can take care of your son. Mr. Meyer, I strongly encourage you to enter a program that can help you. Your son needs you so much. He loves you and you love him."

 

 

 

Even through his inebriated state, Andrew thought it over. He chewed on the inside of his cheek and sighed. He sniffed, his eyes still wet from crying. "My son is the most important thing to me. All right. I'll--I'll do this program."

 

 

 

Chris smiled broadly and patted his back. "Andrew, congratulations."

 

 

 

He was puzzled. "For what? I didn't do anything"

 

 

 

"Yeah, you did. You made a different decision than you did last night, and the night before, and the night before that. Tonight, you decided to stop drinking. You took the first step. You're one step closer to your son. And I'm here for you, ok?" Maggie saw her take something out of her jeans pocket and hand it to Andrew. "This is my phone number. You might not need it in rehab, but after you get out, if you need anything, you call me, ok? Day or night."

 

 

 

He took the card a little stiffly. He glanced over it and put it in his coat pocket. "Th-thank you."

 

 

 

Standing up, Chris talked to both Maggie and Andrew. "I'm going to call in a favor. I'm going to have a friend on the force stop by, someone who has a car, and have him escort our friend to a rehab facility. I don't think the three of us can fit on the motorcycle." She winked at Maggie. "So, talk over with him whatever you need to. I' need to find a phone." She reached out to squeeze Maggie's upper arm and jogged across the street, disappearing into a restaurant.

 

 

 

While she was gone, Maggie talked to Andrew, assuring him that everything would be all right and that she'd call him once a week to check up on him. He didn't say much; he looked apprehensive, as though he didn't know if he was making the right choice or not. Her heart went out to him and she hoped and prayed that he would be helped.

 

 

 

No sooner did Chris return than a patrol car pulled up. Maggie and Andrew walked over to it and Chris helped him inside. He gazed up at them through the window, and Maggie's heartstrings couldn't help but be tugged. The young man was weighed down by such heavy burdens and she knew he thought life was bleak for him right now. She only wanted the best for him. As the car drove away, she couldn't tear her eyes off the car, even after it was out of sight.

 

 

 

Chris soundlessly helped her back to the motorcycle; Maggie was too numb to say anything. Somehow, she managed to put her helmet on and sit on the bike. They took off and all she could think of was her client's pitiful situation. He was young, bright, and had a charming son, whom she'd met on a couple of occasions. Sometimes life wasn't fair; and instead of picking himself up, she'd helplessly watched him collapse under the strain of being out of work and trying to navigate a crumbling marriage. She had tried talking to him, had tried listening to him, but she couldn't reach him. Thank God someone had. Thank God Chris had been there. Maggie had worried about Andrew, which wasn't unusual, as she worried about all her clients. Her partners had accused her of being too emotionally invested in her clients, but she had always told them she wasn't in the business of making money, rather she was in the business of making a difference. They laughed at her idealism; she laughed at their cynicism. Thanks to Chris, maybe Andrew wouldn't end up arrested for drunk driving; maybe he wouldn't succumb to the diseases that afflicted alcoholics. Maybe he could get his life back.

 

 

 

When the bike stopped, Maggie was jerked from her reverie to find them parked in front of an apartment building. She hadn't even noticed where they were going, she was so deep in her own thoughts.

 

 

 

"Where are we?" she asked softly.

 

 

 

"My apartment. I know you said you needed to get home, but you look like you need someone to sit with you while you process things or think about things...or whatever it is that you do."

 

 

 

"That--that would be nice, actually," she responded warmly. Following Chris up three flights of stairs, they made it into her apartment, which looked like it had been hit by a tornado.

 

 

 

The cop laughed nervously as she began picking up stray clothing that littered her living room floor. "Don't judge; I'm not the cleanest person in the world. Or the most organized."

 

 

 

Maggie scanned the apartment and giggled. "You aren't, are you? Don't worry, you'll get no judgment from me."

 

 

 

"Did you just giggle? Did the formidable attorney in her Macy's attire and serious glasses just release a giggle in my presence?" Chris teased.

 

 

 

"I know how to giggle, you know! I do giggle sometimes!" she protested. “There is a little bit of humanity inside me.”

 

 

 

Chris sat down on her couch and patted the seat next to her. Maggie sat down a little awkwardly. She wasn't sure what they were doing here, but she thought it was better than going home to her husband. She couldn't talk to him about her clients or her feelings about her clients. He was a pathologist and therefore, terminally clinical about things. People were incubators for diseases, nothing more. She didn't try to talk to him anymore about her work. It was too precious for him to reduce to mere terminology and she tired of his derision over her proclivity to get overly involved in the welfare of her clients.

 

 

 

"Thank you," Maggie burst out abruptly, looking at Chris earnestly.

 

 

 

"For what?"

 

 

 

"For what you did for Mr. Meyer."

 

 

 

"Just a part of my job, Maggie."

 

 

 

"No, no it's not. You had cause to arrest him, and you didn't. What you did...may have very well saved his life." She reached over and squeezed Chris's hand, noticing the dark pink polish on the younger woman's nails. Another thing that added to the complexity of the person sitting next to her. Leather, diamonds, and now, pink nail polish. "And...I like being called Maggie, I think," she admitted with a rosy blush claiming her cheeks.

 

 

 

Chris looked down at Maggie's hand on hers and smiled, squeezing back. "Everyone deserves another chance. He doesn't seem like a bad guy. I'd rather put bad guys in jail, not good guys. I became a cop not just to put the bad guys away, but to help the good guys when no one else can."

 

 

 

Maggie's head snapped up at that. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. "I understand that."

 

 

 

"Do you?" Chris asked with a smile. "You know, when you first marched into the bar--"

 

 

 

"I did not _march_ into the bar," Maggie interrupted in an unyielding tone.

 

 

 

"You totally marched."

 

 

 

The older woman made a disgruntled noise, but Chris continued, amused. "When you marched into the bar and I first saw you, I immediately knew you were special, but I didn't know why. You're not like any lawyer I know. You genuinely care about people. I like that. You could've continued to take Andrew's money, let him keep doing what he was doing, knowing that he would never be awarded visitation--or be awarded visitation but have it revoked the first time he was caught drinking around his kid, which, to be honest, would be sooner rather than later--but you didn't. That's why you're special."

 

 

 

"I'm not special; I like to think that I'm just a decent human being."

 

 

 

"You're that, too," she said as she took her jacket off and tossed it on the side of the couch. Maggie itched to hang it up in a closet. That's where jackets were supposed to go. Chris must've seen the look on her face because she laughed. "That's just killing you, isn't it? I would let you put it away, but I'm afraid the state of my drawers and closets would give you a heart attack."

 

 

 

"I'm not judging," Maggie grimaced, tapping her fingers anxiously on the armrest of the couch.

 

 

 

"No, you're just dying a bit on the inside." She kicked her boots off and they landed near the television.

 

 

 

"Oh, now you're just being cruel." Getting up, Maggie retrieved the shoes and sat them next to the door where a mountain of shoes taunted her mercilessly.

 

 

 

"Quick! Look away! Some of the shoes in that pile don't have their mates!"

 

 

 

"Young lady, I'm going to sneak in here one day and clean your apartment. You'll walk in here and think you're in the wrong place." She crouched down to peer into the mountain of shoes.

 

 

 

"I like that idea. I like the thought of coming home and finding you here. Would you have dinner ready, too?"

 

 

 

"I don't really cook," she responded carefully. She enjoyed the playful banter; she especially liked the wide smile etched on Chris's face. Again that night, she couldn't look away from the younger woman. She briefly wondered if she was crossing some kind of line she wasn't aware of. It was all in good fun, right? She actually wouldn't mind cleaning Chris's apartment, not necessarily a sentiment she experienced a few hours after just meeting somebody. She also found herself wondering if she could learn to cook.

 

 

 

"That's too bad. I live on pizza and beer. But now and then I crave homemade pizza." Her eyes glittered with mirth.

 

 

 

"Pizza is not a food group, my dear." Maggie looked at her over her glasses.

 

 

 

"If you keeping doing that, it's going to be my undoing."

 

 

 

"Doing what?" asked Maggie in honest bewilderment.

 

 

 

Chris hesitated, then let out a loud guffaw. "Maggie, when you look over your glasses at me...it's the biggest turn on."

 

 

 

She was at a loss for words. Chris was...a...a...

 

 

 

"Yes, I'm a lesbian." she laughed.

 

 

 

"I didn't say anything," Maggie proceeded slowly.

 

 

 

"You were thinking it," Chris smirked. "I just thought we'd get it out of the way, because I am strongly, strangely attracted to you and--"

 

 

 

"Strangely? What's so strange about being attracted to me?" she asked defensively, throwing her hands on her hips. It made Chris giggle.

 

 

 

"I didn't think you were--"

 

 

 

"I'm not. Well, I don't think I am. Not that I've given it a lot of thought." It was the second time she'd blushed that evening.

 

 

 

"I see."

 

 

 

A few moments of silence passed between them, and Maggie grew increasingly worried that maybe she'd said something wrong. Finally, she broke the silence, "I'm glad that I appeal to you..."

 

 

 

It was Chris's turn to arch an eyebrow. "I don't think 'appeal' is a strong enough word here."

 

 

 

"Oh?" She was a little surprised by that. Oddly enough, she wasn't thrown off by it. It made her feel...wanted. Appreciated. It had been a while since anyone had shown any interest in her. It felt good to be the object of someone's attention.

 

 

 

"Yeah." Chris's tongue darted out to lick her lips until they glistened in the soft light of the ceiling lamp.

 

 

 

"Well, what word would you use instead?" Maggie's stomach was half knots and half butterflies as she waited on Chris's response. She was shameless. Was she flirting? She couldn't tell because she hadn't done that in ages, either. Oh good God, here she was in her 40s attempting to flirt (badly) with a girl in her 20s. And she was married. An old, married woman. What in the world was she thinking?

 

 

 

Chris stood up and closed the space between them. She stood several inches taller than Maggie, even though Maggie was still wearing her heels. They gazed at each other for a moment, until Chris spoke up, her voice a little lower. "I swear to God, if you look at me over your glasses again, I'm not going to tell you the word I would use instead, I'm going to show you."

 

 

 

Briefly contemplating this, Maggie threw caution to the wind and once again peered at her over her glasses. Chris stepped closer, taking Maggie's face gently into her soft hands and lowered her mouth until it crashed into Maggie's. The contact surprised her. She momentarily didn't believe that Chris would actually follow through on her word to 'show' her. Her lips here pliable, velvety. It was different than kissing her husband, whose actions were often rough and left her longing for some kind of feeling behind them. She had supposed that it was the effect of having been married almost 20 years. The honeymoon couldn't last forever. Romance dulled and cooled and was replaced by staid routine.

 

 

 

Which is probably why Maggie found the events of that night thrilling. And now she was being kissed by a strange woman. It wasn't that she was strange, exactly, but she'd only known Chris a few hours. Unexpectedly, Maggie, who had some initial misgivings about this kiss, as she had never kissed a woman, found herself opening her mouth a little more. When Chris's tongue slipped inside, Maggie emitted a barely audible moan. Chris heard, though, and smiled against the other woman's mouth. She smiled all the time, Maggie noted. And laughed. She liked it. Chris's hands left Maggie's face to wrap around the older woman, pulling her tightly to her. She bit at Maggie's bottom lip, then tantalizingly licked it. With one last kiss, Chris released her, both women panting ever so slightly.

 

 

 

"Maggie, have you ever been made love to by a woman?" Her breaths were a quick succession of abbreviated pants that seemed to get caught in her throat before making their way out her mouth. Maggie stared into her face. She was a lawyer; she was good at reading people. She saw lust, hope, and...fear. The bottoms of Chris's bangs hung low over her forehead, grazing the top of her eyes, which were at the moment the darkest blue Maggie thought she'd seen them so far tonight. There was a vulnerability there that she hasn't noticed before. It was odd since Chris had seemed so self-assured earlier, knowing exactly what to do when Maggie, who was generally known for having all the answers, had disappointingly floundered in dealing with Andrew Meyer's situation.

 

 

 

"I--no. I haven't," she answered in a small voice she thought sounded too calm for what she was feeling at that moment.

 

 

 

Chris took Maggie's hand and led her into her bedroom. And Maggie let her. She didn't even notice that it was just as messy as the rest of the house, for at that moment, her knees felt weak and the butterflies in her stomach threatened to eat their way out. She felt like she did the first time she'd ever had sex. Her eyes were locked on Chris, and she suddenly felt a surge of fondness wash over her for the younger woman. Again, Chris took her face gently in her hands and kissed her with a passion that Maggie hadn't felt in ages. She closed her eyes and surrendered to the kiss as their tongues met and performed a languid dance of desire. She felt fingers unbuttoning her blouse, and a soft hand slip inside to cup her lace-covered breast, and she didn't even try to stop it.

 

 

 

Maggie wasn't sure what this meant, or what would happen after it was all said and done. She didn't want to think that far ahead. She wanted to live in the moment. She wanted, _needed_ to feel.

 

 

 

She and Chris ended up on the bed, their limbs entangled, still kissing. Each kiss was a little more demanding than the one before. Chris's lips left Maggie's mouth, the older woman whimpering at the loss, to trail across her jaw and down her neck. Maggie's breathing hitched when Chris's tongue traced little circles on the sensitive skin of her neck. A loud moan exploded from somewhere deep in her throat and her hand buried itself in her lover's hair. The pair of lips curved into a smile against her skin.

 

 

 

"I never would've thought you'd be so noisy in bed," Chris looked up, her eyes brimming with mirth as she fluidly unzipped and removed a rather inconvenient skirt that was hindering her lustful intentions.

 

 

 

But Maggie smiled quite devilishly, "We only just met. There are so many things you don't know about me... Yet."

 

 

 

Between this uncharacteristic naughty side that was surfacing, and the sadistic use of her glasses, Chris was beyond aroused. Her eyes were a few shades darker and her ministrations had become more urgent, though she never lost the deftness with which she handled the body beneath her.

 

 

 

Soon, both women were lying on the sheets, their bodies exposed to one another, their skin touching, their arms wrapped around each other. Maggie was proving herself to be a very vocal lover, something that urged Chris on just so she could hear more. Chris's mouth traveled down the older woman's body, leaving a trail of wet kisses in her wake until her head was nestled between Maggie's legs.

 

 

 

Maggie hadn't done much thinking during this very impromptu act of lovemaking. If she had done some thinking, she may have very well jumped out of bed, collected her clothes, and run home. Or maybe she'd find that she had a lot of feelings to work out. If her husband surfaced in her mind, the intense feelings of guilt would be overwhelming, as Maggie tried to be an honorable, honest person. However, she found that she craved Chris's touch and she liked being regarded by the younger woman with a mix of sweet affection and pure lust. It made the almost 42-year old power attorney and wife of a pathologist feel positively alive, as though she had something else to live for other than her career.

 

 

 

Her body was on fire, awakened from its dormant state with kisses and touches. The next couple of hours were spent exploring and learning. Maggie had only ever been with her husband, and their sex life had been disappointingly unadventurous. Chris was patient and together they learned what drove one another over the edge into a blissful oblivion.

 

 

 

Once their wanton desires were sated, Maggie and Chris collapsed on the bed. Chris tenderly pulled Maggie into her arms, placing a soft kiss her pale shoulder. They were quiet for a few minutes, permitting all those thoughts Maggie blocked earlier to flood her conscience.

 

 

 

Chris allowed her fingers to travel in a loving caress from Maggie's hip up to her rib cage and back, over and over in a hypnotic motion. Maggie sighed and closed her eyes.

 

 

 

"Talk to me," Chris murmured into her ear. "Tell me what you're thinking."

 

 

 

"You're going to...hate me," Maggie replied hesitantly. "But I'm an honest person, I think. I think you should know that I'm married."

 

 

 

The caress didn't stop. She was glad it didn't stop.

 

 

 

"Oh? What's he like?"

 

 

 

The question caught her off-guard. She tried to think of some way to describe him that didn't seem so dull. "He's a pathologist. He studies diseases, how they impact the body, how they spread. He does research at the university where he's worked since medical school."

 

 

 

"How long have you been married?" The question was punctuated by a loving kiss in Maggie's hair, which caused her toes to curl into the back of Chris's leg.

 

 

 

"20 years. We married the day after we received our bachelor degrees. It was a June wedding."

 

 

 

"Do you have children?"

 

 

 

The question stuck in the air a moment longer than it should've. Maggie swallowed a large lump in her throat, and Chris immediately felt bad for she quickly told Maggie she didn't have to answer.

 

 

 

"No, no, it's fine. We tried for several years. I went to specialists for tests and treatment, but I never became pregnant. I love children, though. I suppose it just wasn't meant to be," she finished more wistfully than she meant to be.

 

 

 

"I think you would make a wonderful mother," Chris whispered in her ear, making Maggie smile a little.

 

 

 

"And how do you know that? We've known each other a few hours at best."

 

 

 

"I'm a cop, honey. I read people so well I should get my own 1-900 number and start making money off it. It's...intuition."

 

 

 

Laying in Chris arms felt so safe. She felt her burdens melt away, and she felt like she could talk about things she'd buried so deeply because talking about them wouldn't change them anyway. Her husband never wanted to hear things about her feelings or about what she was thinking. He was most content when everything was routine and without issue.

 

 

 

"I'd always wanted a child," she whispered, almost afraid to say it aloud. "I've imagined myself with one. I wish--"

 

 

 

"You could adopt. There are lots of babies needing homes."

 

 

 

"My husband would never go for that. I actually brought it up once, but he wouldn't agree to it." She swallowed again, blinking back the tears she fervently willed herself not to shed.

 

 

 

Chris tangled a hand in Maggie's hair and kissed the side of her face sweetly, "I don't like your husband."

 

 

 

Maggie sighed, "He's a good man, really."

 

 

 

"I'll have to take your word on that. Maggie, what are we going to do about us?"

 

 

 

She stiffened; her back became rigid. Chris had to have felt it because her hand suddenly stopped its tender caresses.

 

 

 

Turning to look into Chris's eyes, she said, "This has been wonderful. _You_ are wonderful. But I'm a married woman."

 

 

 

"You don't love him; I can tell. Maggie, you have been married to this man for 20 years with nothing to show for it."

 

 

 

"That's not true. Chris, as I said before, we've known each other mere hours. Please don't presume anything about my life," she replied crisply, her mouth settling into a thin line.

 

 

 

"I don't have to presume. It's written all over you, honey. I ask you to tell me about your husband and you tell me he's a pathologist. Nothing about his characteristics or personality. If you loved him, you wouldn't be here."

 

 

 

She said it as gently as she could, but Maggie moved away from her, grabbing the sheet to wrap around her body and sat on the edge of the bed. Chris sat up, too, throwing on her underwear and t-shirt she'd been wearing that evening. Quietly, she picked up Maggie's clothes from the floor and handed them to her.

 

 

 

Crouching down on the floor in front of her, she looked up into Maggie's green eyes which had gone from bright due to the evenings prior activities to dull with doubt and conflict, and told her, "You might think this is just a fling, just sex, but it's more than that. You're right, we've known each other just a few hours, but let me let you in on a little secret. I don't often bring strange women home and have my way with them on the first date. And you and I haven't even had a first date yet."

 

 

 

Maggie couldn't help but smile. Suddenly, she relaxed just a bit, enough to slow down and process Chris's words. She wished she could stay here all night, but she knew her husband would become concerned if she wasn't home by morning. And then there was the ever-present fact that she was married, and it did mean something to her no matter the person she was married to. She hated feeling so torn.

 

 

 

As if she could read her mind, Chris stood up and helped Maggie dress, which was nice. It was a foreign feeling having someone care about her. She could've dressed herself, but the fact that Chris so lovingly assisted her in something so mundane as dressing made it so much more meaningful. She swept the younger woman's bangs to the side and pressed an affectionate kiss to her forehead.

 

 

 

They moved to the living room so Chris could put on her shoes and jacket and Maggie took one last look around.

 

 

 

"I know what you're doing, so stop it," Chris smiled.

 

 

 

"I'm not doing anything," Maggie responded in a low, plaintive voice.

 

 

 

"Yes, you are. You are looking around as though it's going to be the last time you ever step foot in this place. I'm just not going to let that happen."

 

 

 

Maggie narrowed her eyes at her. "What do you mean?"

 

 

 

"Come on, I would never hurt you. This stays between us. Not only because of your reputation but because it was something special. But I'm not going to lose you. Besides, I need you to come back and clean," she grinned.

 

 

 

"Chris--," Maggie sighed, but she was cut off when Chris's mouth found hers. It was a sweet kiss, lacking the fervid passion of earlier, but it contained all the warm and affection that Chris seemed to embody.

 

 

 

When Margaret Stafford returned home that night, she silently made her way to her own room and climbed into bed, curling into a ball. She wished she was being held and clung to the memory of Chris's arms around her. She was hungry for that contact, for the consideration she'd been treated to that evening. Restless, even at so late an hour, she went over the events of the night, feeling warm and excited. Remembering Chris's hands on her, and the way it felt to have her mouth on her, bringing her to climax, she found that she didn't necessarily regret what had transpired. There had been a connection forged when previously she had thought herself like an island, cut off from everyone else. She had felt something and she desperately wanted to feel it again.

 

 

 

Typically, this is where Maggie would end the story. Naturally, she left out the juicier parts. Those were memories for Chris and her alone. However, every once in a while, someone would ask what happened next. With another sip of wine, a slight smile, and her trademark tilt of her head, she would find herself telling yet another story, even if only to clear up the erroneous story Chris had so gleefully propagated. It wasn't a story of lies, but things didn't happen exactly as Chris claimed they did. For example, Chris did not burst into Maggie's house one day and throw her over her shoulder and carry her back to her messy apartment. As great a story that was, and Maggie admitted it contained a wonderful blend of drama, suspense, and romance, that wasn't _exactly_ the way things happened.

 


End file.
